Page 32 of Forging Chaos

Fern sighs dreamily. “Is it cheesy if I say I was born ready? Obviously, it’s been a lot of work to get here, but I keep pinching myself because it’s finally happening.”

She forks a bite of food, and Aunt Lucy tips a ton of wine into Fern’s glass, but Fern’s smile fades a bit. I frown and ask, “What’s with the face? Something wrong?”

She waves a hand. “Oh, no, Lucy pouring my drink reminded me that Thora’s at work today.”

The sound of her name sends my heart racing a little faster, and blood rushes to my groin. The other night was definitely not a “get it out of my system” situation. Or my system still has a lot more Thora Janssen in it. I clear my throat. “Isn’t she always at work?”

Fern bites her lip and leans closer, voice low. “She’s really doubling up, though. Ugh, she’d kill me for telling you this, but she had to give her airfare money to her mom for the rent so that Mrs. Janssen could be there for commencement next week.”

I pause, letting that sentence sink in fully. “You’re saying Thora is paying her family’s rent?”

Fern nods. “They had some unexpected expenses. Thora’s really upset. Ugh, don’t tell her I told you.” She sighs. “She’s so close, Odin. It’s hard to see the finish line getting bumped further away.”

I nod, eating quietly while my mind races. I look around the table and glance out the back window at the row of six-figure cars that could finance Thora’s life a million times over. Hell, last month’s royalty check from the video game with my avatar could buy Thora upgraded airfare. Now she’s working double shifts to pay her family’s rent?

After lunch, I find my Uncle Tim in the kitchen rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher, muttering to himself about noisy, nosy siblings. “Hey, Unc. Can I ask you something?”

He turns, looking delighted to be asked for advice rather than help scraping food from plates. “Sure thing, Odin. How’s the leg feeling?”

“Meh. Pretty numb still.” I tap on the cast. “It’s not about that, though. I was wondering…how you’d go about giving money to someone who doesn’t want to take money.”

He smiles. “This is an excellent question. What sort of money are we talking?”

I throw one hand in the air. “Hardly any. Like a thousand bucks. Maybe two if I can finagle it.”

He nods and squints over my shoulder toward his youngest brother. “Your Uncle Hawk has a foundation…would the…recipient perhaps be a woman in need of legal support?”

I purse my lips, considering. “She’s trying to get to Oxford to study international family law policies. I want to pay for her airfare. I don’t want to take money from Uncle Hawk’s foundation.”

Uncle Tim grins and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Ah, but we could funnel your gifted moneythroughthe foundation…we just need to convince her to accept it, right?” I nod. “Let’s create a surprise micro grant program she can be selected for!”

I shake my head. “That sounds too easy.”

He asks me what sorts of things the “recipient” is involved with at school, and I draw a blank until I stare at Fern and remember something Thora did a few months ago to help Wyatt. “She volunteers at the student law clinic on campus and helps people get free legal aid,” I say. “She knows Mom from her guest lectures there.”

Uncle Tim rubs his palms together. “Sounds like she’s about to be chosen for a distinguished service award, doesn’t it?”

He tells me to give him a few days to sort out the particulars and to create a way to hide my donation. I feel energized and excited for something, and I honestly never thought I’d feel this way again. It’s like I won a game, and the game is getting Thora what she wants and needs. None of it makes any sense, but damn if it doesn’t motivate me to be more of a human and less of a couch cushion.

CHAPTER 25

THORA

ODIN STAG

What are you up to?

I stareat his text in between customers at the shitty hot dog stand in the baseball stadium. Why’s he texting me? Okay, I know he’s texting me about sex.

It has to be that, right?

It was good sex. He probably wants to have some more of it. He’s such a dreamboat, and I can hardly believe this fling is real.

I’d definitely rather be doing Odin Stag than pulling hot dogs from boiling water at a food stand with no tips. When Mom said she could get us a last-minute gig during the day today, I thought she’d at least have us at a bar cart. Nobody tips the hot dog girl.

I pluck a dog from the water with a pair of tongs and snap a selfie, sending it back to Odin.

He sends me back a GIF of an old man squinting through a magnifying glass.

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